


Dream of the green fairy

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-07-14
Updated: 2002-07-14
Packaged: 2018-11-20 10:29:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11333937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Walter finds visions of Alex in the bottom of the glass





	Dream of the green fairy

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Dream of the green fairy

## Dream of the green fairy

#### by Laurel

Archive: Yes to ditB and Full house slash, anyone else just ask first  
Spoilers: None  
Summary: Walter finds visions of Alex at the bottom of the glass Note: For the Nick Lea birthday challenge, a definite kick in the pants needed to finally get around to writing this. Notes: Absinthe was referred to in France as "la fee verte" or the green fairy, a reference to its green color, which came from the chlorophyll content of the herbs used in the distillation process. Absinthe is not the evil it was made out to be. In short, many attribute its reputation for causing madness on the toxic chemicals some disreputable manufacturers added to the liquor to create its signature green color and clouding effect, rather than carefully concocting its special blend of herbs to give it its distinct taste and color. Others concede its victims suffered from alcohol abuse. Along with the special herbs used, it has a high alcohol content ranging from fifty to seventy five percent. For more info check out these websites I used in my research: http://www.gumbopages.com/food/beverages/absinthe.html http://www.feeverte.net/ 

The cold water slowly dripped over the slotted spoon, dissolving the crisp sugar crystals. The lethal liquor in the glass turned a milky green color, slightly yellowed, swirling and dancing like stars in a psychedelic dance. 

The glass was downed slowly, savored, the sugar adding just the right sweetness to cut the bitter taste. The mild bite of licorice was tempered by the coolness of a touch of mint. There was a touch of earthiness, toned down by the addition of more sugar. 

I ordered another glass and the waitress shimmered a little as she walked towards me. Her low cut square neckline was edged just over the curve of her ample white breasts. The black apron over the frilly white bodice undulated as the high content of the alcohol hit my brain. 

She set down the second glass and I prepared it more slowly, letting it become a solemn ceremony. 

The other patrons of the bar hunched over their drinks, smoking foul, thin cigarettes, downing cheap tankards of ale, smoky whisky, cheap red wine, talking in hushed tones or roaring with laughter. Men leered at the waitresses, women hung on to their male companions, lolling on their rickety chairs, their thick petticoats rustling around their ankles, heels turned up on the floor as their legs spread wider with each drink. 

The lanterns flickered as the flames withered, then sparked again to life. The second drink had me energized, restless, loose-limbed, ready for anything. 

The third drink had the room spinning in a gyroscope motion. The pleasant buzz of intoxication was a ride on turbulent yet playful seas. The amber lights flickered now like beehives swinging from a tree branch, the drunken women's mouths were slashes of lipstick like lines of blood, the men's hands grabbed at their pale flesh, elongated fingers like bony candelabras. 

I turned away from the scene in front of me. The flesh that seemed to pulsate within cinched dresses, the laughter that mocked like cawing carnivorous birds, was too much. 

I closed my eyes and let my mind go blank. In place of the smoky bar there was a whirling vortex within the black and he appeared. The first thing I noticed, were his eyes. They were green as emeralds washed by seawater. They flashed at me, greener than the alcohol, greener than ferns in a wild forest, fringed by lashes like the hem of a curtain. 

The hair was impossibly shiny, gentle spikes crowning his head. My finger traced down and pinched the snub nose until he laughed. His laughter was scraped out of his throat, husky and low, the pink lips parted over perfect white teeth. 

Ah, what those pink lips could do! 

A hint of tongue peeked out from between his lips, then swiped his mouth with a moist lick. He grinned and flashed his eyes, then tilted his head, his eyes leaning downward, the lashes hiding their mirth. 

I could feel myself getting hard, the thickening, swelling shaft pushing against the rough wool of my pants. It wasn't quite painful but it wasn't comfortable either. Every time the head rubbed against the material, there was a tiny irritation. 

I wished for silken underwear, linen, anything but the roughness of my plain clothes. Then I thought of Alex's mouth. It was better than the most luxurious fabric to nestle my hardness against. His mouth is a warm, wet, soft cavern that would easily, slowly, teasingly suck me in. His throat would flutter against me, taking in as much of my thick cock as he could. 

What he couldn't swallow he fisted in his hand. His long fingers would pump me hard as he sucked me deeply, his tongue swirling around the velvet skin stretched tight over the head. He'd suckle the plump flesh, stroke down the length with his tongue, bite gently all around with the edge of his teeth, coaxing a groan out of me. 

He would stop and squeeze hard at the base when I was too close, then start all over again, getting me riled to the point of release, when he would again employ that trick to stop my imminent orgasm and bring me to a groaning, growling exasperated stop. 

I would pull him against me. He would protest the feel of the wool jacket against his face, the cotton shirt with its jagged uneven buttons would scrape his cheeks, all my clothes carrying the scent from the stables with me. He'd wrinkle his little nose at the scent of the horses. 

"Bah, a little merde never hurt anyone, my love," I would dismiss, all the while laughing at his expression. 

His money could buy me anything I desired but I always refused. I wanted only him. When he was able to leave his family and strike out on his own, a handsome bachelor his relatives could no longer control, we had promised each other a life far away from this city, far from prying eyes or closed minds. 

We would find a home where we both could live and we would love each other to sleep every night. 

His look penetrated me to the very soul, his bewitching eyes pinned me to the wall, where I was made motionless, became paralyzed, held captive by his gaze. Slowly he approached, his slim hips making his cock bob up and down as he walked. 

He lifted his hands and I mirrored his action. The palms touched, his smaller hands against mine were soft. My own in contrast, were rough with calluses. He'd never had to work at manual labor in his life. To the manor he was born, although he was never spoilt, never superior. 

He would come to visit me in the stables, ostensibly to feed the horses and stroke their noses, holding out handfuls of apples or carrots for them to snack on, but all the while he would exchange flirtatious glances with me, engaging me in conversation. I had to take him in hand when his desires grew more urgent than his speech could communicate. 

The first time we had made love in the stable he had carefully folded his clothes as was his custom. In his own dimly lit bedroom, he would make sure his clothes did not touch mine. We could not chance anyone catching on to our rendezvous. My clothes carried the musty odor of the stables, of animals and earth, of saddle oil and grass stains. He would hang his fine clothes in the spacious closet that could have housed an entire family and he would take a moment to drink me in, from my balding pate to my feet. His expression then was priceless, a mixture of awe and lust, trust and love. 

I could hardly wait for him to put his breeches and flowing shirts away, my feet drumming impatiently. While I waited I refreshed myself with splashes of water to make sure I was clean for him and sprayed little spurts of his cologne so that not only did I smell nice but I could take his scent with me when I left him, creeping down the servants' entrance like a thief. 

That day in the stable he had not complained of the smell, the grime, the rough blanket I had laid out for us. Dust motes danced in the beam of light. The light rode down from the window, to his head to crown the glossy hair and turn it into a halo. He looked so beautiful and wanton splayed out on the bales of hay, his legs lazily pushed apart, his finger crooking into a signal for me to join him. 

His body was warm and moist, his manhood hard and twitching against his belly. I stroked it a bit until he sighed and squirmed. His legs twisted around my waist pulling me closer. I smiled at him, pulled his legs further apart and let my fingers caress his inner thighs with feather light strokes. 

His skin trembled and gooseflesh erupted along the trail I traced. Alex groaned. I increased the pressure, sweeping my fingertips with slightly more pressure. Alex clamped his legs down and pulled me on top of him. I landed on him with a grunt. My cock slid into the juncture of his thighs, trapped there by the sweat clinging to his flesh. His muscles rippled and my body shifted until the head of my cock was positioned at his opening. 

Alex humped himself against me like a shameless barnyard cat so that I slid into the groove between the round globes of his ass. Fortunately for both our sakes, the vial of oil we used was in my pocket. 

I poured a small amount in my palm and greased him thoroughly, pushing two fingers into his little hole. He mewled in response and arched his back as I gently stretched the tender tissues. 

"Enough," he growled, batting away my hand. "The straw's itchy, Walter," he complained. 

"It was your idea to visit me here," I replied. "Next time, I'll sneak into your room again." 

"At least we won't have company." 

I looked back at the horses in their stalls. "You're right. But I think they're just jealous." 

The horses whinnied and stamped their feet. Alex's favorite, Blaise, shook his head. 

"Hurry, Walter," he begged. 

I took pity on the poor boy and sank into his tightness slowly, gently, as his ass stretched to make room for me. Alex sighed and murmured wordless sounds as I slid my full length into him. 

I pumped into him slowly, changing the angle of my hips to hear that squeal of delight. I began to ride him harder when he begged. I rode him like he was a prize stallion. I found the riding crop in the pile of hay and slapped his flank with it. He gasped in surprise and I hesitated in carrying on this new game until a mischievous light sparked in his eyes and he nodded permission. 

I hit him again with a short sharp flick of my wrist. He gasped again with the momentary pain. His thigh had two red lines etched into the pale flesh. 

"Harder please," he rasped through a strained throat. 

I doubled up my efforts, ramming hard and deep into him. There was no subtlety or gentleness now, only animal rutting. I slapped him again, on the well muscled part of his thigh, until several lines streaked his tender flesh. He moaned at each bite but didn't tell me to stop. In fact, he encouraged me to ride him harder and whip him when his thrusts didn't satisfy me in their perfection. 

With a strangled cry he came hard, spurting his semen against my chest and belly. I was bathed in his warmth and dropped the crop to wallow in his seed, enjoying his release. 

His muscles clamped down tight on me and squeezed. My cock was enveloped in his grasping, tight, wet tunnel and I could hold back no longer. With a shout that frightened the horses I pumped my seed deep into him. 

I collapsed on Alex in exhaustion. He groaned in protest but held me tightly. I was reminded again of why they call orgasm, le petit mort. I felt as if I had died and gone on to heaven. 

"Walter, it's itchy," he complained a few minutes later. 

"I'll scratch it for you in a little while," I promised. 

He slapped my back. The thump resounded with a wet smack from the sheen of sweat. He giggled and threw his legs up to prevent the cramps from settling into the muscles. "The straw is itchy." 

"Ah, the straw." 

I pulled out of him now that I'd grown soft. His thighs were a mess of juices running down them. I dipped some clean rags into the pail of water and cleaned both of us. He sighed and laid his head on my chest, tangling his clever fingers into the curls of hair. 

I felt a tug on my trousers and looked down. My eyes were open now, confused at the sight. Two hands deftly pulled them up around my hips. 

"What will people think Walter?" His voice was low, choking on laughter. "Come, let's get out of here." 

"But....where did you come from?" 

"Did you really think I wouldn't come back for you?" 

"I didn't know. It's been some time now and you sent no word...." I let my words fall away, ashamed at the loss of faith I'd displayed. 

"Come now," he said gently, helping me out of the chair. 

The patrons around us looked startled, confused, several of the women leered openly at me. They were all looking at the crotch of my pants. I blushed, realizing I'd exposed myself in public. As if they haven't seen one before. I'd bet not a one was a virgin and if by some miracle there were any present in the bar, they must have seen the drunken men urinating in the alley in the least. It was not an uncommon sight. 

It had all been a vision, memory made real. I was reeling on my feet now, still pleasantly drunk. Alex's hand in mine was real though. He threw a handful of bills at the waitress to compensate for my lewd behavior. Perhaps I'd just unbuttoned my pants to relieve the pressure. I shrugged and mumbled an apology. She shrugged and laughed, getting another look at the bulge. 

"Why are you here drinking this medicinal muck? I will buy you the best absinthe made, not this bitter, cut rate, poisonous substitute. Come, the carriage awaits." 

"We're going home?" 

"No, I have found a new place like I promised. Your note of resignation has already been turned in. Papa was surprised but mama, not so much. She wished me luck. I had your things packed. I also bought you a few new clothes. Now, don't argue with me, you did need some new things." 

"Our new home?" 

"Yes you silly man. Hurry now. I'll tell you all the details on the way." 

Outside, the carriage, packed to the brim with luggage, waited. The horses, Blaise at the front, huffed at me in greeting. Alex pushed me inside, giving the subsiding bulge a pat. 

"Are you going to be sick?" 

I shook my head. 

"How many did you have?" 

"Just three." 

"Good. Promise me you'll never do that again," he demanded. 

"That's not very many. I usually have more," I confessed. 

He picked up the reins and the horses began to move. 

"What?" 

"I didn't know when or if you were coming back. I needed something to dull the pain." I shrugged helplessly. 

He swore for several minutes. "What's wrong with you? Do you want to end up in the asylum with half a mind? Don't you know what that garbage that passes itself as liquor can do? Are your friends in there so charming you spend half your night in the bar?" 

His sarcasm and anger bit into me deeply. 

"No of course not. I drank by myself. I missed you. I'm not proud of spending my time like that but I saw you more than once when I drank. It was as though you were not a vision, but real." 

"Well, I'm here now," he said gently. 

"I promise I'll never do it again." 

"You had better not or I'll take the switch to you." 

I knew he was not joking even though his tone was light. "I will be good. Now tell me about the house." 

"You will love it. It's by the sea, quite charming and spacious with walls painted light green and blue and white as though it was the sea itself. I have ordered a custom made bed big enough to hold the two of us without falling out of it in the middle of the night. There's a stable too." 

"With itchy straw?" 

"Of course." 

He laughed and clutched my hand. 

"Promise me we will never be apart again," I asked of him. 

"We will always be together," he promised. 

The fog was rising, hovering above the ground, never obscuring our vision as the carriage made its steady course to our new life. 

* * *

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Laurel 


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